


Favorite Customer

by plutosrose



Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020 [15]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Brief Body Image Issues, Brief Non-Period Typical Attitudes, Everyone has a crush on Natasha, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Period-Typical Ableism, Post-World War I, World War I Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutosrose/pseuds/plutosrose
Summary: Pierce’s club was located inside of Howard Stark’s hotel--all of his hotels had French names that Bucky had a hard time keeping straight--so the door never swung open dramatically. It was instead located off to the side of the entrance, so unobtrusive that most people missed the entrance to the club completely.But that moment was dramatic, because suddenly Natasha wasn’t the only beautiful person in the club anymore.-World War I vet Bucky Barnes works at Alexander Pierce's speakeasy. One night, Steve comes in to ask for a job.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882291
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020





	Favorite Customer

Bucky wouldn’t have minded having his arm blown off in the middle of a muddy trench in the French countryside if the war had actually meant a damn.

Instead, as far as he could tell, it hadn’t. Nobody really knew why they were out there fighting and dying. He’d never bothered to ask, because that was a one-way to ticket to getting yourself shot for insubordination, and he would have preferred to go home in one piece and not die wet and cold and in fucking France of all places. 

His arm had been blown off somewhere outside of Alsace and Lorraine. Artillery explosion. Lot of shrapnel. His arm had been completely shredded, and doctors had worked overtime to try and make sure that none of the shrapnel punctured vital organs. 

Maybe he was lucky, though, because at the very least, he’d survived, and he hadn’t tried to claw his throat out in the middle of a surprise mustard gas attack.

He’d arrived home, and sure, he had one less arm now and a certificate that said that he would maybe get paid for his service when he was around fifty years old. 

But in the end, he had been luckier than most. Rebecca and John had a spare room and were happy to let him stay as long as he wanted if he helped out with the kids and helped clean. He had a job (working at the Red Room, a speakeasy that was owned by a gang, might have been illegal, but it was honest enough work, and Pierce paid him on time). Pierce might have also been a giant prick, but his money was as good as anyone else’s.

So really, he couldn’t complain too much and didn’t complain too much, especially when so many men from his unit hadn’t come home, or were living on the sidewalk in haphazard tents, slowly dying while nobody gave a damn. 

And yeah, Pierce might have treated him like a sideshow freak any time that he came in to his club for a drink (look at the one-armed bartender, isn’t it amazing that he can hold a glass upright?!), but he could put it up with it for the money. He’d just mix Pierce’s sidecar, pretend that he hadn’t heard a single word about Pierce’s enemies ending up at the bottom of the Hudson, and listen to Natasha sing. 

Natasha sang at the Red Room most nights. She had a smoky, sultry voice and could sing in six different languages. He would watch her, night after night, as she sang--makeshift spotlight shining down on her glossy red hair, and making the beads in her dress sparkle in the light. 

Bucky might have been a little in love with her, but that wasn’t unusual. Pretty much everyone who had ever seen Natasha was a little in love with her. He’d seen Pierce’s number two, Rumlow, propose to her on no less than four occasions, and each time he did, Natasha would push him away, and he would go easily, like he was completely weightless and spellbound by her. 

“Yasha,” Natasha said as she leaned over the bar that night. “I’m on break for ten minutes, I would love a dubonnet. Extra dry.” 

He’d opened enough of the bottles of gin that Pierce’s men brought into the club to know just how disgusting it was, but mixing in spices and wine made it smell almost tolerable, he thought. 

He handed the slim glass of jewel-colored liquid to Natasha, who sipped it delicately. “Rumlow leaving you alone tonight?” he asked.

Natasha’s lips curved into an expression halfway between amusement and disgust. “He is a child. It is not a problem. I don’t have time for children.” 

The night before, he’d been working late, when a fight between Rollins, Rumlow, and Batroc had nearly broken out, because Rollins had claimed that Natasha had recently agreed to marry Pierce. Pierce, of course, was a busy man, and hadn’t been there to confirm or deny the rumors. 

There was no way that it would make any difference in his own life if the rumors were true or not, but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering. 

In fact, he’d been about to ask if the rumor was true when the door to the club swung open.

Now, normally, this wouldn’t have been that much of a dramatic moment. Pierce’s club was located inside of Howard Stark’s hotel--all of his hotels had French names that Bucky had a hard time keeping straight--so the door never swung open dramatically. It was instead located off to the side of the entrance, so unobtrusive that most people missed the entrance to the club completely. 

But that moment was dramatic, because suddenly Natasha wasn’t the only beautiful person in the club anymore. 

He was slight and blond and the moment that Bucky saw him, he felt completely transfixed. 

“Hey, you’re James, right?”

Natasha looked between the two of them, chuckled to herself and placed the glass on the bar. “I’m on in two, have to go warm up.” 

Bucky furrowed his brow for a moment, trying to figure out why Natasha would need to warm up for a set when she’d been singing all night, before his brain reminded him that the blond was standing right in front of him still, smiling politely and waiting for him to say something. 

“Sorry, um, yes, I am.”

“Steve. I was supposed to come and see you about helping you?” 

Bucky blinked at him. “I get along fine, I don’t need help.” 

Steve’s eyes went wide, like he hadn’t expected that response. “The thing is, I really need a job.”

“We all really need a job, pal.”

Steve let out a breath, and Bucky was sort of amused by how frustrated he looked. He had to wonder briefly if that said anything about his character.

“My mom is sick. I need the money. I haven’t been able to get a job.”

Bucky studied his expression for a moment, taking in the way that his jaw clenched and his eyes shone, like he couldn’t decide if he was trying to stop himself from getting into a fight or start one.

“You seem like a fella who could do whatever he wanted,” Bucky shrugged, which prompted Steve to let out a laugh.

He liked the way that he threw his head back and the way that he smiled, even if there was an edge to it. 

“‘Fraid more people tell me what I can’t do than what I can,” Steve shrugged. 

“I’m familiar,” Bucky said, and Steve frowned.

“The world isn’t fair,” Steve huffed. “The government’s corrupt and treats most of us like shit.”

“Not much you can do,” Bucky shrugged.

“Yet,” countered Steve. 

Just then there was a loud crash, and if Bucky had learned one thing at war, it was that a split second always, always counted. His eyes went from the table with Rumlow and Rollins and Batroc to the police at the door, and he made his choice. 

As the police streamed into the bar, he reached over and grabbed Steve’s hand. “Come on.”

Steve hurried after him, and Bucky pulled him into a storage closet. He quickly began pushing crates in front of the door, and Steve, bless him, was good in a crisis, because he helped Bucky barricade the door shut.

But once that was done, and they were both breathing heavily, Bucky couldn’t stop staring at Steve’s shadow in the dark. 

Bucky wasn’t sure what came over him in that moment. Maybe it was because he was fairly confident that he was about to be arrested anyway. Maybe his life, leading up to this very moment, flashed before his eyes. 

Or maybe he wasn’t thinking at all and it was just adrenaline from hiding in the dark while the police raided the club. He wasn’t sure. 

Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward. He could barely make out Steve in the dark, but Steve must have leaned forward too, because now he could feel him, pressed flush against him. His fingers curled at the base of his neck as he kissed him. 

“Fuck,” Steve groaned. Bucky immediately clasped his hand over his mouth and hissed at him to be quiet. 

He let go once Steve nodded, letting his hand wander lower. He was suddenly full of the impulse to let his touches linger and take all the time in the world he knew they probably didn’t have. 

Steve’s breathing had grown ragged and uneven, his eyes slipping closed as Bucky cupped him through his trousers, savoring the feel of him in his hand before he cautiously undid the button on his pants.

His heart was hammering in his chest, and he almost felt a little dizzy with arousal and adrenaline, but it didn’t matter. 

Steve drew in a breath as he reached into his trousers and wrapped a hand around him, stroking gently from the base of his cock to the tip, taking special attention to swirl his finger around the head.

It wasn’t the best handjob he’d ever given someone if he had to rate himself (he’d done a lot better when he’d jerked off a private from North Dakota in a muddy German shithole, though admittedly it was hard to say if being at war and likely about to die anyway had heightened the interaction). But it didn’t seem to matter to Steve, whose gasps grew increasingly desperate and noisy. When Bucky spat into his hand and increased his speed--keeping his grip firm but not too hard--Steve had to clamp his own hand over his mouth to try and keep quiet. 

Steve shuddered suddenly and came. He withdrew his hand and wiped it off on a towel that was hanging off of one of the crates, before offering it to Steve. 

“Bucky, are you--” Steve began. Even in the dark, it was easy for Bucky to tell where he was looking. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged. The last thing that Bucky wanted Steve to notice were the scars across his shoulder that snaked down to his abdomen. He’d much rather remember the feeling of Steve’s warm skin under his fingertips than have to deal with Steve touching him with any kind of hesitation. 

Bucky cracked the door open and peered out into the club. As far as he could tell, no one was there now. Not even the police. Just a lot of shattered bottles of gin and overturned chairs.

He crept out into the open, righting a couple of chairs as he tried to clear the way. After another minute passed, he waved Steve out into the open.

“Shit,” Steve murmured, eyes wide as he took in the sight of the club.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmured, shaking his head. 

They waited another ten minutes, doing their best to sweep up some of the broken glass, before they both snuck out of the club and into the cool, wet night air. 

Bucky took a deep breath and shoved his hands into his pockets and fell into step beside Steve, silence hanging uncomfortably between them. 

“I’m sorry you lost your job,” Steve said finally, and bit his lip. Bucky shrugged. 

“Pierce has so many of the cops in this town in his back pocket, I’m sure the club will be back up and running by the end of the week.” That was what Pierce always said, at least. ‘The police have to do this for appearances, just don’t get arrested and you won’t lose your job.’ 

Bucky licked his lips as they walked another block, before he was able to work up the courage to ask what was on his mind.

“You really going to work for Pierce?”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe. Wouldn’t if I could help it.”

“You shouldn’t,” Bucky shrugged.

“You do.” Steve gave him a sharp, challenging look. 

“I ain’t got a lot of options, punk.” 

Steve gave him a look that was halfway between disappointment and outright indignation. Bucky hadn’t known Steve long, but he already found it slightly amusing that someone so small could look so much bigger than they actually were. 

“Well,” Steve said slowly. “Would it be okay if I came by some other time? If I don’t...work there.”   
As much as he suddenly very much didn’t want Steve to be hanging around anywhere that was frequented by Pierce and his associates, he was selfish.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “You can do that. Just run if the police come again.” 

“That’s one of my talents, actually,” Steve grinned up at him. Bucky snorted. 

“I’d pay to see that.”

“You wouldn’t have to pay, you could just open the door the next time the police show up.” 

Bucky smiled, fingers itching with the urge to put his arm around Steve. “Seriously though, don’t get arrested.”

“I won’t,” Steve nodded solemnly. 

“Good,” Bucky smiled, his heart feeling unexpectedly light, and he had a feeling that it didn’t have much to do with adrenaline anymore. “I’d hate to lose my favorite customer.”


End file.
